


don't carry me too far away

by thoseguitarists



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Harry makes it better, Insecurities, M/M, Narry - Freeform, Niall can't swim, also talk of soulmates but eh, and kind of explains the reason of the world while he's at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:11:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7197230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoseguitarists/pseuds/thoseguitarists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been one of the best decisions Harry reckons he’s ever made, really. He had Niall before, yeah, but it was limited, it was halfway, and now that he and Niall can affectionately, adoringly refer to one another as each other’s boyfriends while still holding on increasingly tight to the resolved/unresolved sexual attraction and the tightness, closeness between one another is ― well, it’s a damn good thing, that’s what.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't carry me too far away

**Author's Note:**

> It's a lot of fluff to prepare myself for what is about to happen in the next few months, story-wise. Title from 'Jet Airliner' by Steve Miller Band.

Harry smiles, lazy and dazed and sated, as he traces his fingers along the veins in the palm of Niall’s hand, again and again and again; his touch is just barely there, soft and careful, because Niall’s dozing offhandedly in the bed beside him, too tired to wake up but too wired to completely fall back to sleep after their round of a messy morning make out that left rivulets of excited ecstasy in Harry’s blood.

“Morning, pretty boy,” Harry says, sighs, smiles bright, bringing his fingers up to brush through Niall’s hair. It’s longer than Harry’s now, which is oddly enticing, honestly. “D’you sleep well?”

Niall bares his teeth in a wolfish grin, flutters his eyes delicately, and they’re the color of the sky outside the hotel room and his face is brighter than the brilliant sunshine. “Slept like the big baby we both know I am,” he replies, thick and gravelly; Harry brushes the pad of his thumb across the slope of Niall’s pretty, pretty nose, wiping off a stray eyelash and blowing it from his finger. He doesn’t make a wish because they’ve all come true. “Feels good waking up next to you without having to rush around and skip breakfast to get to work on time.”

“Yeah?” Harry’s grin grows, kinda, as Niall moves his hand across Harry’s bare chest, tracing the fading outlines of his tattoos as if they are most remarkable pieces of art in the world. “I think so too, Ni.”

Niall sighs, giggles, straightens his legs and tangles them with Harry’s, running his feet up and down Harry’s calves in a way that tickles, a way that warms Harry deep in his body as Niall nuzzles, snuggles impossibly closer till the only thing separating them is their underwear and the thin layer of sheets that was able to sneak between.

“Even though you’re a freak in the sheets, kicking and moving all over the place,” he says, teases Harry with a soft laugh that’s muffled against Harry’s heated, sharp clavicle. “I swear, you’re wilder sleeping in bed with me than you are when we actually _sleep_ together.”

“Oh, hush.” Harry groans, tries to roll away from Niall’s good-natured badgering, but Niall’s arms are quick to curl around him, to pull him back till they’re as entangled as they were moments before. “You knew what you were getting in to before you got in this relationship with me, so hush up ‘cause I don’t want to hear none of your complaining.”

And what a relatively new relationship it is, too. He and Niall have been friends for quite a few years ― Niall transferred from Dublin to Cheshire in grade 5, after his parents divorced and his mum packed up, caught a plane and laid down roots in the first town she could afford a decent house, which happened to be right across the street from Harry’s, and that started off one of the most extraordinary friendships in the entire galaxy, and that’s not an opinion because it’s been proved to be a fact ― and the two only just recently, barely two and a half months ago, decided to make a go of whatever it was that was bubbling, sparking between them.

It’s been one of the best decisions Harry reckons he’s ever made, really. He had Niall before, yeah, but it was limited, it was halfway, and now that he and Niall can affectionately, adoringly refer to one another as each other’s boyfriends while still holding on increasingly tight to the resolved/unresolved sexual attraction and the tightness, closeness between one another is ― well, it’s a damn good thing, that’s what.

Niall narrows his eyes, gives Harry a half-sultry, half-sweet glare that brings on more chuckles than apologies. “How can I complain about you after last night?” he asks, blinks slow, slow, slow, and Harry’s trying not to remember last night ― last night, which was his and Niall’s first time actually being together, actually coming together as one, and Harry went all out, you know, booking an expensive, top-of-the-chart hotel room in the city as well as spending most of his week’s paycheck on cheap beer and yummy pizza and chocolate-covered strawberries. They’ve been in need of a vacation, of a weekend getaway, for a while, and Harry took out two birds with one stone ― and he’s quite proud of himself, too.

It was fun. It was one of the best nights of Harry’s life, that’s for sure, and he’s not inclined to forgot it even after he’s old and gray and in need of assistance around his home, around his and Niall’s home.

Because they’re it for one another, you know? Harry believes in soulmates, believes that one person is linked to another in the world and that they’re supposed to be together forever and a day, till the end of the line, and sometimes you find your true love and sometimes you don’t, but Harry’s found his and that’s kind of all he cares about at the moment.

“I took care of you last night?”

Niall nods, gives Harry another soft, soothing smile; there’s lavender-colored bags beneath the sunken skin of exhaustion on his face (Harry reckons being the musical therapist at a special hospital where troubled kids are sent to recuperate and rehabilitate takes quite a toll on the body, but Niall wears his battle wounds with such a fierce proud that Harry’s heart swells whenever he thinks of all the good Niall does for children who don’t have anybody else to care for them), and his cheeks are pink and his nose is red, but his eyes are blue ― so blue, and sparkling, too, and glimmering and shining and glowing and simmering with fire, with heat, and Harry knows he took good, good care of Niall.

But still, a verbal confirmation feels good to hear, feels good on the ears.

“Yeah.” Niall rolls his eyes, but the dopey grin on his face does wonders to Harry’s ego, to Harry’s heart. “You took care of me last night. But you’re the one that came four times compared to my two.”

Harry blushes, reddens to the point where he’s almost ― _almost_ ― positive the silver silk sheets he and Niall are wrapped up in are going to catch fire and burn each other like one another’s body’s did last night.

“Don’t bring that up!” Harry gushes, lifts his chin and hides his blushing face in the soft pillow as Niall cackles loudly at Harry’s expense. _How rude_. “It’s not my fault my body listens to you more than it does me, or that you can do those… _things_ with your tongue.”

“’Those things’?”

Harry nods, turns his head to the side a little bit and meets Niall’s eyes shyly, slyly. And it’s not that he’s a prudish virgin, per se (he isn’t, by the way ― a virgin, that is, especially not after last night, but he has needs that a quick wank hardly ever sufficed, and he never went out to sleep around, really, although he’s not a stranger to a salacious rendezvous every other month since relationships have never been his thing, either, till he and Niall decided to make a go of the fireworks they saw in one another’s eyes), but he isn’t a fan of the more promiscuous, lecherous term of things. Call him old-fashioned, but he can’t help the way his mother raised him or how he adapted to the craziness of the world around him.

Simplicity is way underrated; it feels good sometimes to stand out without forcing it.

He’s a nice guy. Caring, kind, compassionate, kindred; he’s seen the ugliness of the world, seen the nastiness in some of the people, and he chooses not to respond to it, for the most part.

Niall’s a big influence in those decisions, too, although he knows that if Niall’s ever asked about Harry’s tenderness, he would say it’s “just Harry” and shake his head with the most loving smile on his lips.

Yeah. Yeah, Harry’s definitely found his soulmate. And it’s really the greatest feeling in the world, knowing he doesn’t have to settle because he’s got everything he’s ever going to need, everything he’s ever going to want.

“Yeah, ‘those things’,” he replies, scoffs, and rolls his eyes, but Niall’s hands are in his hair and his fingers are rubbing along the curve of Niall’s bottom lip, and this back-and-forth teasing banter is something he and Niall have had since the first day they met ― or, maybe it was a week after they met, really, considering Niall threw his toy train at Harry’s head to entertain him while Niall read, but all Harry wanted was the book, honestly, and they hated one another for seven days before Niall finally gave in and built a tiny fort in his backyard where he read to Harry and Harry drew the scenes Niall’s voice was painting in his head. “You’re way too surprising for me. I’m gonna keel over and fall into an early grave if I keep you around. And I didn’t know you swallowed, either ― I think that’s part of the reason I was able to come so many times in your mouth.”

“Oh, come off it, you old soul.” Niall twines his fingers in Harry’s hair, tugging just enough to make Harry wince from the sensitivity of last night. “And I don’t usually swallow ― and it’s not like I went around sucking dick left and right, you know; I just never trusted anybody enough to put my mouth on them ― but with you… it just happened. And I loved seeing your face, anyway, so that’s a bonus, too.”

Harry shivers, burrows deeper into the sheets, deeper into Niall’s body, and it feels like he’s at home. “You trust me?” he asks, timid and careful; he and Niall haven’t discussed love or said much of anything about it, either, but ― but it’s there, and really, they know one another well enough to understand what the other is thinking without having to say it.

“Yeah.” He combs his fingers through Harry’s hair; easily, gently, tenderly, delicately.  “With everything.”

Harry hums, captures Niall’s chin in his hand and holds him still as he arches closer, as their lips meet in a soft kiss not unlike the first one they shared on their reserved barstools at Louis and Liam’s pub on the outside of the city, and Harry’s reminded all over again why, just why, he and Niall fit so, so well together.

Niall pulls back, puts a kiss on the tip of Harry’s nose, which causes a sudden giggle fit that echoes in the quietness of their hotel room.

“Let’s go back to sleep, yeah?” Niall proposes, blinks, and Harry nods, stupidly grinning and rolling around till he and Niall are entangled like roots of two neighboring trees, comfortable in more ways than one. “It’s the weekend, and there’s no reason to be up before noon. We’ve got another day here in paradise, anyway, and nap isn’t going to be the end of the world.”

-

“I can’t swim.”

Harry stops fast, nearly walks right out of the slippers his sister bought for him as a gag gift ― joke’s on her because he not only uses them, but loves them, and she gets them for him every year for the hell of it, mostly ― and looks over his shoulder, levels Niall with a calculative sort of glare. They’re both dressed for the weather and the pool, wearing swimming trunks and thin, well-worn shirts which have been washed a few too many times that they’re to shrug off as soon as they reach the water, as soon as they clamber through the wrought-iron gates surrounding the mass of sparkling liquid.

The hotel they’re staying at is, after all, four star, and they’re bordering on the fifth, so Harry doesn’t expect nothing less than not only a fifteen foot wrought-iron fence protecting the pool, but also a keycard reader that only allows guests access as well as two stationed officials on either end.

“What?” Harry asks, light and faint; he lets out a laugh, readjusts his grip on Niall’s hand and twines their fingers. “What do you mean you can’t swim?”

“What I said.” Niall shrugs, turns his face away from Harry as if hiding his eyes, but it doesn’t really matter because the sunglasses he’s wearing are darker than midnight ― and also “borrowed” from Louis, but that’s a story for another time. “I can’t swim. Never learned how, was never offered to be taught how.”

Harry wrinkles his brow. “But Niall, all the times you and I went for swims in the creeks back home…” he begins, trails off; Cheshire is moderately modern, for the most part, but Harry and Niall grew up on the outside of town where the trees had more populace than people and water was a crepitating background noise all through the year, no matter what season. “You swam then, a hell of a lot.”

“I never got far enough in that I couldn’t touch,” Niall says, soft and timid, and ― and he isn’t telling a fib, because Harry distinctly remembers all the times he looked back over his shoulder after swimming out in the middle to see that Niall was perfectly content with staying in water that barely lapped at the bottom of his chin. “And if I did, I had a jacket on. Mum always bought a new one for me when summer rolled ‘round.”

Harry rubs his neck, steps out of the way of a large family in a hurry to get to the pool; the sun is hot above them, beating down and merciless, and Harry can feel the sweat on his body as it forms and dampens his shirt, and he’s so close to just ripping the thing up and over his head that it isn’t even funny, but right now he needs to focus on Niall’s discomfort instead of his own.

“Why didn’t anyone ever teach you?”

Again, Niall shrugs, and Harry hates the way Niall’s freckled shoulders slouch all the more every time he does it. “Nobody ever knew,” he answers, tugs his hand from Harry’s and crosses his arms over his chest as if he’s on the defensive end of all this. _Not even you._ “It was never a big deal back then, and it’s not a big deal now. I had more going on in my life than learning how to swim, and I didn’t think I needed to know ‘cause I never went in the water on my own. I was a very smart little boy.”

Harry laughs, moves Niall closer as he leads them off of the cobblestone path and beneath a shade tree, sitting down on a bench that matches the fence surrounding the pool. “I can’t argue with that,” Harry agrees, and the memories hit him hard: it was always him and Niall, green and blue, and Niall was small but fierce and Harry was big but tender, and they balanced each other out well enough that the entire town ― and a few residents outside, too ― never questioned them because where one was the other was likely to be, as well. “I was always getting us into trouble, and you were always getting us out. We made the best team ― still do, too.”

Niall nods, grins, fiddles with some sort of loose stitching on the end of his frayed swimming trunks. “That’s how it went, yeah,” he says, tilts the sunglasses up off his eyes, and in the shade the blue is just a bit darker, just a bit clearer.

“I can teach you, you know,” Harry suggests, scooting closer till their legs are touching and Harry can ease the pounding of his heart. Not much has changed since he and Niall shifted from platonic to romantic, per se, but Harry has found that the only way to calm his racing heart is to touch Niall, is to be near Niall. The level of power Niall has over him shouldn’t be possible, but it is and Harry’s just as scared as he is appreciative. “To swim, I mean. Being the lifeguard at the pool next to uni for four years came in handy, and I taught more than one swimming class, too.”

Niall blinks, slow and thoughtful, and he looks like the cutest little lost puppy. “I’d really like that,” he says, and the easiness in his voice is tangible, palpable, and Harry enjoys the way Niall’s words roll over his body like a touch that will never be forgotten. “But not right now, please.”

“Of course.” Harry nods, smiles, tangles his fingers together with Niall’s; he can respect Niall’s insecurity, Niall’s self-consciousness, and he won’t push Niall to do something he isn’t comfortable with. “There’s a go-kart track down the road, and I’m sure I can beat your ass at it till you’re ready.”

Niall scoffs, rolls his eyes. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

-

“I think this is illegal,” Niall says, whispers, and a short moment later, adds, “I’m fairly sure this is illegal.”

“Eh.” Harry shrugs, tangles his fingers with Niall’s as the gate to the pool closes behind them with a soft hiss of protest in the night air. “If it was illegal, don’t you think they would have posted pool hours somewhere? Besides, the gate wasn’t locked.”

“Because an unlocked gate is what we’re going to base legal and illegal on, yeah?” Niall snorts, but he’s following along behind Harry even though Harry’s dragging him a bit more than usual. “I reckon it was expected of the tenants to know the pool is closed when the lights are all off.”

Harry hums, looks around; the tall lamps above are off, yes, but there’s still lights in the pool that’s illuminating the lapping water, and the moon is full enough to shed plenty of brightness to be able to see, and even if it’s illegal it’s okay. It isn’t as if they’re going to prison for taking a dip in a pool afterhours.

“Well, if we get caught, then I guess we get caught,” Harry says, turning to grin at Niall, and his devil may care attitude must be infectious because Niall’s smirking in the next moment, too, and apparently nothing has changed since they were little kids in Cheshire. “It’s only illegal if you get caught, anyway. Don’t you want to look back on your life when you’re old and gray and be able to tell your grandkids that you fucked shit up and went on the best adventures when you were their age?”

Niall rolls his eyes, scoffs a laugh. “Every day with you is an adventure,” he replies, and he’s goofy, cheesy, but there’s a bubbling adoration inside of Harry that overwhelms his heart at Niall’s words because of the impossible truth behind them.

“Goofball.”

They’re silent after that, apparently having reached an agreement; they walk closer to the edge of the pool and strip out of their night clothes till they’re left in nothing but their underwear. The night air is warm against Harry’s skin, and the pool smells like heat and chlorine, and Niall is a solidness beside him in the dark that makes his heart soar.

 _Perfect_.

Harry pokes Niall in the hip, a little bit too prideful to see that the bruise he sucked onto his skin a few hour ago is even bigger, is even darker. “Ready?” he asks, and Niall nods, tucking his puffy bottom lip between his teeth. “All right, we’ll ease in on the kiddie side, m’kay? It’ll come up to our shoulders at the deepest part, probably. I’ll show you a few things, and then when you think you’re ready we’ll move on over into the deep end.”

Niall nods. “Sounds like a plan.”

Harry giggles, drops down on the edge of the pool and sticks his feet into the warm, comforting water. “Come in when you’re ready,” he says, pushes off the edge and drops in slow, careful ― but then there’s a blur of a body flying over him, splashing into the water, and he’s got chlorine-infused liquid in his eyes blinding his vision because Niall can’t control himself, it seems. “Niall, you idiot!”

Niall’s laugh rings out loud when he surfaces a bit away from Harry, drenched and overly ecstatic as he swims toward Harry, as he wraps his arms around Harry’s neck. “Oh, c’mon, old soul, you know that was funny. Wipe that frown off your face and let’s have some fun.”

It takes a moment, but then Harry’s grinning, and he and Niall dive right in to a wild bout of multiple water fights, goofing off and spraying one another mercilessly; their laughter echoes around them, drowning out the noise of the pool and all the mechanics that whirl with it, and time passes without either paying attention till Harry’s nose is full of liquid and Niall’s eyes are burning from the chemicals and Harry’s fingers are pruned against Niall’s cheeks and their smiles are painted on, tightly pulled and destined to never fade.

“You ready to start?” Harry asks, sobers, smooths a bit of water off Niall’s brow before it falls into his eye. “We’ll start with easy stuff, Ni. Cup your hands like this.” He brings his hand up, shows Niall that his fingers are flush and his palm is cupped, creating a wrinkled sort of bucket. “And you just kinda, like, swipe at the water, but there’s more than one way to do it and you should pick the one that’s best for you.”

Harry shows Niall how he himself swims, taking a few laps around the kiddie end and explaining to him that he learned on his own and never saw a reason to change his style, and then provides examples of other ways to swipe your arms, to kick your feet and still stay afloat. Everybody swims differently, and Niall needs a few options before he picks his style because swimming feels more like a chore than a luxury if your form is bent out of shape.

Niall cups his hands ― or tries to, that is, but his fingers are bent at an awkward angle and his palm isn’t crinkled near enough, and it kind of makes Harry laugh because Niall’s adorable cluelessness reminds him of the group of little boys he was to teach lessons to his first summer as an instructor. They were a wild bunch of kids, but Harry had the time of his life with them and it’s a nice memory to have, one that he’ll hold on to forever.

“Stop laughing at me.”

“What?” Harry asks, and Niall’s furrowed brows and freckled nose and cute frown only make Harry laugh even more because he’s entirely too cute to be real sometimes. “I’m not… I’m not ―”

“Yes, you are.” Niall pulls back, moves to the sides of the swimming pool where the flooring is lifted enough that he can hop up easily onto the cement. “You’re laughing at me because I’m twenty-two and I still don’t know how to swim.”

Harry blanches, moves over to Niall and pushes his knees apart, stands between them on the step inside of the pool; Niall’s still quite a bit taller, though, and Harry has to tip his head back to meet Niall’s eyes. He’s not laughing anymore, either, because Niall’s lips are curled down in the ugliest frown Harry’s ever seen.

“Niall?”

Niall crosses his arms, gives Harry a glare that could rival a wildfire, and Harry’s so cold now that he’s burning. “You were laughing at me.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” Harry sputters, shakes his head. “I promise I wasn’t laughing at you, Ni. I’d… I’d never laugh at you for not being able to do something.”

“Then why were you laughing?” Niall asks, demands, and his voice is a little bit louder than Harry would like for it to be. “’Cause you were having a good damn time, and I don’t see anything remotely funny besides the fact that I can’t swim for shit.”

Harry sighs, drops his head onto Niall’s thigh and wraps his arms around Niall’s waist, holding him close even though he feels far away. “The first class I taught at the pool was this group of little boys who were _horrible_ ,” Harry begins to explain, chuckles dryly into the skin of Niall’s thigh before looking up and meeting Niall’s softening gaze. “They had hell getting the forms down, but when they figured out how to do it their own way, they were like fish in the water, Ni. You remind me of those ten loud boys I spent hours teaching, and that’s a memory I don’t ever want to let go of.”

He stops, leans in, presses a kiss to Niall’s hipbone, and Niall’s quick inhale is just as sweet as his fingers twining through Harry’s short hair. 

“There’s nothing wrong with not knowing how to do something ― I took two semesters of a photography class when I had no idea how to take pictures, and now I make a living on it. And you were there with me every step of the way.” Harry grins, and Niall rolls his eyes but there’s a smile on his face, too. “And I’m going to be with you every step of the way; whether it’s learning how to swim or securing that promotion at work or finally having enough savings for a down payment on that loft you want downtown, I’m going to be right next to you. You gotta believe that, Ni.”

“I do, Harry,” Niall says, thins his lips and drops his shoulders. “It’s just ― you know how to do so much, and I’m not jealous, really, but… but I feel so inadequate sometimes. You’re talented and an easy learner, and there’s nothing you can’t do if you just put your mind to it.”

Harry shuts his eyes, nuzzles into Niall’s tummy and grazes his teeth along the few rolls along Niall’s bellybutton. “You don’t have to do everything I do,” he says against Niall’s skin, breathing the words into Niall’s sensitive flesh. “You’re not supposed to, anyway. You’re my other half, Ni, and it’s your job to do all the things I _can’t_ do.” He picks his face up, sticks his fingers just barely beneath the waist of Niall’s underwear. “Why do you think we fit so well together?”

Niall groans, grabs Harry’s cheeks and holds him still as he leans down, as he connects their lips, and it’s a kiss that tastes like chlorine and ice cream and nachos, and Harry feels relieved, feels light now that Niall’s been set straight.

“You’re such a little sap,” Niall says against Harry’s lips, giggling so hard that they have to pull apart. “I swear, you’re a ninety-year-old in a twenty-two year old’s body.”

“Oh, hush ―”

“Hey!” a voice yells through the darkness, cuts Harry off, and he groans, hides his face in Niall’s stomach as realization dawns, showers over them. They’ve been found out. “You aren’t allowed to be in there!”

Harry snorts. “We’ll be right out!” he yells in return to whoever’s found them ― he doesn’t care to look around and see the person because he’s too busy staring into Niall’s glittering eyes, and there’s more stars in them than there are in the night sky above. “Next time?”

Niall nods, wipes a stray piece of hair out of Harry’s face with his thumb. “If we don’t go to jail for trespassing since it’s only illegal if you get caught,” he replies, winks, and Harry’s laughter drowns out the noise of the world around them.

**Author's Note:**

> Liam has inadvertently decided for me to write about the boys on tour, in the back of the bus (because that was them in all the rawness of beautiful things) and I quite like the idea of exploring life after the intense hiatus, among other things.


End file.
